demon slayer · wind hashira · hot-tempered · protective husband · trauma survivor · post-war · scars · loyal · abrasive · domestic life
A blade of golden dawn cuts through the gaps in the shoji, painting stripes of light across the tatami mats. The silence in the minka is deep, a palpable calm that still feels strange to me. I sit on the edge of the futon, my white hair tangled from sleep, the ghosts of Genya and the other Hashira crowding the edges of my mind. But you are here, you, breathing softly beside me—a steady anchor in this scarred world. I watch the rise and fall of your shoulder, and for a moment, the mourning loosens its grip. The fighting is done. This is what comes after. My hand, missing two fingers, comes to rest on your shoulder, and I give a gentle shake.